


Ephemeral

by Smokeandblossoms



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29421690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokeandblossoms/pseuds/Smokeandblossoms
Summary: There’s courage to be found in all things.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly & Andrea Sachs, Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 26
Kudos: 96





	Ephemeral

Three years. It had taken three years of working at Runway for Andrea to notice something amiss. 

Oh- there had been much to gain in that time. Learning to walk in heels, certainly, as well as time management and working under pressure. Nate had left that past July, but her colleagues- mostly Emily and Nigel- had more than made up for his absence. The three of them worked well together after their initial disputes, operating as one might expect a well-oiled machine. Less mistakes were made. Fewer people got fired. Compliments become more commonplace and Miranda- 

_Miranda._

Her relationship with the editor in chief had grown as well. It was a slow, painstaking process, a hard-earned trust that developed with every show of momentary success and backpedaled otherwise. With the rise of her competence, Miranda grew warmer. Friendly, even. And on some days, between the rushing and lingering, the orders and praise, Andrea allowed herself to want more. 

It was a foolish thing to consider, she knew. Selfish. 

A harmless crush on one’s boss was one thing. Anything beyond that, however, was quite another. It was a problem she had not to worry about, she’d told herself. And it wasn’t, until it was. 

“I’ve seen that look before,” Nigel told her one day. It was after a meeting, one of the many dozen they would have that week, normal enough that its contents escaped her mind the next day. His words, however, would stay for much longer. “You’re not the first to fall in love with Miranda, darling.”

He’d walked away before she could answer. His tie fluttered lightly behind him; red- like Miranda’s heels that morning, her nails, the curve of her smile. 

She began writing her letter of resignation that very evening. 

* * * 

Two weeks later, Andrea found herself lingering outside the company entrance. Here, leaning against the railing with her back to the building, the rest of the city appeared distant, far away. 

She would miss this place, she thought. A place that would never become a home, though it had certainly hosted some of the more unique experiences in her life. To the people to whom Runway catered, she would become nothing more than a nameless face- one of the many hundreds of others to walk through these doors and try their chance at something a little greater. And now, in less than a week, she would leave. As someone greater? Perhaps. Changed? Definitely. 

Out of the corner of her eye, a shift in energy made its way through the building. The change was small, if perceptible only to those who worked at Runway. And these particular footsteps were unmistakable. 

She let Miranda join her in her musing. The woman adjusted her glasses before turning to address her. “Is there something wrong, Andrea?” 

“Something wrong?” The question was unexpected enough that it took a moment to register. “No. Of course not.” 

“You’re being very quiet.” 

Andrea cracked a smile at that, stilling as the woman sidled over nearer. Her hand twitched at her side. “I will try not to take that in offense.” From behind them, she could hear as the company came to its daily halt, the quiet murmur of voices growing more distant beneath the shuffling of feet and wheeled trolleys moving across the lobby. The maintenance team would be here in an hour. The lights would turn off in two. Some nights, Miranda’s office would stay alit until sunrise, a single beacon of light watching out over the expanse of a sleepless city. 

The silence rolled out into the grey. “If there’s been some miscommunication, Andrea, I’ll encourage you to tell me. If you’re feeling unwell-” 

“No,” such attention was flustering, though she tried not to let it show. It would do neither of them any good if she couldn’t practice an ounce of restraint. “It’s nothing of the sort. I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Hm.” 

“It’s nothing you should worry about, really.” 

She waited for a rebuke. A sign of annoyance, though none arrived. Instead, Miranda turned away and let her be. It was quiet enough to hear the other woman’s breathing, falling in sync with hers as they watched the snow fall aslant across the streets. Most of the buildings had by now become covered in a layer of white, the small floating particles of ice refracting the light from the lamps and windows, dispersing a soft glow above their heads.

“Then I assume it has nothing to do with this.” Miranda reached into the folder she carried and drew out a familiar-looking envelope. For a moment, Andrea forgot how to breathe. 

Her letter fluttered briefly in the wind. 

“So tell me, Andrea,” the editor continued, seemingly unaware of her building panic, “if your recent performance has anything to do with this. Or were you just planning to leave one day in the hopes that I wouldn’t notice?” 

“Miranda-” 

“None of that,” she dismissed. Andrea’s brows furrowed at her nonchalance. “Now, you’ll tell me exactly what it is that has bothered you.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Is it the hours? The transportation? If Irv’s taken to bothering you again for whatever reason, I’ll speak with him. You’ve certainly become an asset to the company and if he cannot see that, he’s mistaken.” 

Andrea listened along helplessly. A burn of exasperation grew as Miranda continued, her voice turning from ice to silk as she spoke, offering sweet praise where any resistance might remain standing. 

“And you’ve been doing so _well_ these past few months, Andrea. I don’t tell you that often, but if you need to hear it from me, you will.” 

And grew. 

“Unless, of course, it is me which has caused your sudden interest in leaving. I would hardly be surprised, really.” 

“No-” 

“If you find my presence unpleasant-”

“That’s the exact opposite of the problem!” Her words cleaved the conversation in two. Heart racing, the quiet despair shattered like untempered steel. “Your presence isn’t _unpleasant_ , Miranda. Hardly that.”

Her claim was met with an incredulous stare. 

“I think that,” she steeled herself, “no, I _know_ that I- I like you.” Her hand wavered, lingered in the open air before resting very briefly against smooth skin. “More than that, really. I’ve come to care for you in a-” Oh, must it be this so difficult? She watched as Miranda followed her movements, sharp eyes watching her nervous fidgeting. There was something hopeful in her observance. It was stifling, to a certain degree, the urge to reach out, to touch, to allow her thoughts to wander beyond the walls of courage and past her own fears. 

She watched as understanding dawned in those eyes, however slowly. A slow inhale. And then- “well. You’re not the first to show interest,” a shrug, “there’s some value to my name within these walls, I suppose.” 

“Not like that,” she murmured. She spoke gently, the words falling into the open air where the wind pushed them back against their faces. “I don’t care about that, Miranda.” 

It wasn’t the complete truth, she acknowledged. By the disbelief in Miranda’s expression, she knew it too. There was a certain part of the woman’s charm owed to her title. That blade of confidence, often tempered along the edge of arrogance, brought forward a certain attractiveness. Would she care for Miranda otherwise, she would never know. 

“You’ll grow out of it,” Miranda murmured. “People like you always do. So easily swayed, so easily impressed.”

“If I did, I would have stayed with Christian.” 

A brow lifted in response. 

“Christian Thompson. In Paris.” She wet her lips and tried again. “But that doesn’t matter. I do care for you, Miranda. I really do.” There was a tremor in her voice that kept her from continuing, holding her mute as she fell helpless to her own turmoil and turned her gaze miserably back towards the ground. 

Fortunately, Miranda was not cruel. Not today. 

“I believe you,” she said at last. There was a pause of deep uncertainty as Andrea waited. “I cannot say that I'm surprised, though certainly flattered.” Andrea’s eyes swept over the woman. She was a sight to behold, even at night, when the fabric of her blouse rendered itself a deep mauve, her neck and collar shining in the pale light as if some work of ivory. “And your affections are not,” her voice quieted further to a whisper, “entirely unwelcome.” 

She waited. 

"The girls, however, do need their father and I cannot- will not rid them of that opportunity. Not another divorce, no. But Andrea, we can still,” For a moment, she faltered, catching her breath as the wind nipped at their clothes, their hair. “We can figure something out. Between us.” 

“Between us,” she echoed. 

“Yes. I’ve grown rather fond of you. We do not- you do not have to leave.” The idea pieced itself together slowly. “We can continue as things were. And then some.” 

“An affair.” Her voice sounded sharp to her own ears. The little warmth left in her body vanished, curdled into something vaguely nauseating as she broke away. “You're serious. After James?” 

Miranda brushed aside her judgement. “He and I were more invested at the time. His meddling around was inexcusable,” her face tightened briefly. “Stephen and I have never promised each other that kind of commitment. He certainly hasn’t.” 

“You mean that he-” 

“Oh yes. With quite the willing participants, if I may add. He won’t mind this- whatever happens between us. And I won’t mind it, obviously.”

And Andrea, for the first time, wondered how someone so intelligent could be so utterly dense. 

“And what about me?” Miranda stared at her blankly. “What if _I_ mind it? I'm not here to serve under the- the _terms and conditions_ of your goddamn marriage. I'm not here to have an affair." 

The editor nodded. "You're right. You're here to be my assistant, seems as it is that you've forgotten it." She watched as Andrea paced. “And what else would you suggest? That I simply leave my husband?” 

“You’ve done it already. Twice.” 

Her words were a mistake. She knew it before they left her mouth, though not soon enough to stop them from forming and the resulting flash of hurt that made its way across the face of the other woman. “So you’ll leave the cook, I my husband, and we’ll live off in the countryside together?” All sharp edges now as she stalked forward. Andrea took a step back, then another. “You’re a smart girl, Andrea, so tell me- exactly how an affair would be any less proper than a relationship with my assistant?” 

“Nate’s gone. And I won’t be your assistant,” she tried and flinched, “once I quit.” 

“Not in the eyes of the world,” Miranda dismissed. The woman, despite the blasé in her tone, appeared remorseful. “Some things won’t be forgotten so easily. For as long as Runway stands and my name remains what it is, you’ll always be known as my assistant.” 

“You're worried about the press.” 

A shrug. “Partly.” 

It wasn't enough, she thought. A part of her reared angrily in response, as pointing and petulant as a child. “I thought you weren’t afraid of the media. I thought you didn’t _care_.” 

“Not once, no,” the older woman agreed. “But the girls are growing up and they’ll have questions one day, and I’m,” she breathed deeply as Andrea watched. “I’m tired, Andrea. Do you understand?” She waited for her to nod and offered a soft smile. “And perhaps not as brave as you think I am.” 

“But you want this.” Surely, that would be enough. There was no reply. “Tell me, please.” 

“I’ve given you the options.” Brave or not, Miranda Priestly was a stubborn thing. Too stubborn for the world to change, and certainly too much for Andrea to try. “It’s your choice now.”

She put her foot down. “I won’t live like that, Miranda.” 

“No?” She watched the editor’s face who watched her in return, unfazed. A smile lined her lips, sharp and fragile. “You’ll turn me away, Andrea?” 

“Yes.” 

“And here I thought you loved me.” 

“I,” her breath caught in her chest. “I do.” 

Miranda laughed, startling Andrea. She laughed like something broken. As if she was pulling herself together, each delicate sound a nail drilled between the plates of her ribs to hold together her chest as it caved and swelled, dipped and rose. It was painful to watch, enough to make her turn away. 

“I should go,” Andrea whispered. Her throat constricted around the cold metal of her necklace. “I-I’m sorry.” 

Their hands brushed for a moment in the space between their bodies. The silence grew. It was funny, Andrea thought, how easily a thing could grow. How quickly a fracture propagates, cells mutate, a tree branching between the walls of a city only a shadow of what it would be in a year, a decade. How easily this world could fit inside one’s small, cold hands and tell us _more, give more_ , until we either broke or learned to let go. 

So she did. Miranda’s eyes followed her as she stepped back. And then suddenly, as if a play of light, Andrea caught a glimpse of a stranger in place of the woman. A kinder, more gentle Miranda where this cold, angry thing stood, so lovely it hurt to look at. She blinked and it was gone.

Another step. Her arm lifted weakly to wave. 

“Doug’s coming to pick me up. In a few minutes, so I’ll just wait here,” she pointed towards the first thing she could see, “over there,” where a line of green benches stood opposite the bus station. 

The editor seemed to pull herself up, the faint line of her shoulders rising for a moment, then- “there’s no need.” A spore of hope rose. “Your friend will see you better here under the lights.” 

And fell. “Yes, Miranda.” 

A lip twitched in response to her words. Miranda seemed larger now than she was a moment ago. But then her shoulder curved, an infinitesimal motion like a flower curling back into its blossom. “You could stay. You _should_ stay.” The words were whispered. She could feel their warmth across her skin. “There won’t be any affair- you were right. We can forget about all this. And this silly letter. Nothing will have to change.” 

But Andrea stood frozen. 

Miranda lived in a beam of silver, she knew. A continuum of splendor and success unravelling with every step, bright-eyed and blinding, and Andrea was all too aware of the fact that the moment the woman left, she would take away all this brilliance with her. 

Or she could pull it back. These words, this conversation, months of something gone unspoken- all tucked neatly away like a thread pulled through a needle and into a small, clean stitch of nothing. 

The thought burned just as much as it ached. It would be painless. Effortless, a dance they had well memorized the routine for. Maybe in four or five years, they would get another chance. Perhaps their affections could be preserved in that time, ready to reemerge when everything would be easier. It might work, but if there had been anything Runway had taught her, it was that things which came easily were rarely worth entertaining.

“No, I don’t think so.” She saw the other woman’s face turn away. There was a step of silence as the inches of darkness stretched between their skin. “It wouldn’t work. I think you know that.” 

“Nigel would be disappointed. I thought you were,” she gestured noncommittally, “friends.”

“We are.” 

Andrea heard now the barest hint of anger entering Miranda’s voice. “Then you know that he’d be hurt by your decision. Or does no one in Runway matter to you anymore?” 

“Of course you- all of you matter to me! But if he’s disappointed or hurt, I can’t help with that.” 

Miranda turned away. Her face had already begun hardening, any earlier warmth all but gone. The woman was nothing if not efficient, after all, careful not to leave behind a mess of emotion now that their conversation had apparently ended. “Then leave.” 

“Sorry?” Her heart dropped like a stone. She rocked back at the force of it. 

“Leave. And don't bother coming back.”

“I- I don’t-” 

“Go, Andrea.” Already, it felt harder to breathe. "That's all."

Doug arrived then at just the right moment. The car weaved around the corner and stopped outside the staircase and under the streetlights where the snow glittered brightly enough to hurt her eyes. Already, Miranda turned away from her. Already, the space between their words stretched and thinned, pulled anew with every step she took away from the building and towards the vehicle. 

“Andy? Are you ok?” Doug’s face blurred before hers. She blinked rapidly, ignoring the sting and his words as she closed the door, and then, against her best judgement, peered outside. “Andy?” 

It was empty.

Miranda had left and the snow fell silently where she once stood. From inside the car, Andrea watched as the ground rose to cover her tracks until they grew fainter, slowly, then disappeared. 

**Author's Note:**

> Quick little piece I worked on last night. Please feel free to leave any comments; they really do make my day better:)
> 
> Hope everyone is doing well and keeping safe!
> 
> Edit: I completely forgot that it's Valentine's day today, ahhhh. Sorry!!
> 
> Edit #2: I apologize for all the late replies to your comments. My mind's hmm...gotten the best of me the past few months. Again, I really appreciate all your comments:)


End file.
